No curse. No poison. No locator array. Aaah—what is this thing even for?! I’d been sitting cross‑legged like a stone Buddha for almost two hours, and the gem that melted into me was quiet as moonlight.

I was seething, a hive of hornets under my ribs.

Why am I even suspecting the gem is faulty? My brain must be demon‑fogged, drifting like mist over a marsh.

Whatever. Sleep. When I can’t decide, I drown it in a deep nap; once my lids drop, problems float away like fallen leaves. That’s how I dodged Dreamsound before.

Morning came with pale gold at the window, and Xuewei actually got up early to make breakfast for me—no, for us. Just scallion oil noodles, soy sauce heavy and tidal with salt, but it was still a first, warm as a small hearth.

I sniffled, a kettle ready to whistle. I’ve grown this big and—uh, maybe it’s not the first time. Still, I was moved, soft as rain on clay.

I sprinted to the table, bright as a lantern. I was last to arrive, but I would be the first taste‑tester.

“Me first, me first—ah, mm…”

The tip of my tongue said it was basically soy sauce over scallion salt. But… it’s… it’s fine… urk.

I committed a crime unforgivable, like dropping ashes on a temple altar.

I spat it out at the table, in front of three other people, like a carp breaking the surface.

Forget Xuewei’s shadowed face—Ying Xuan’er, that “good thing I didn’t eat” look made my fists itch like summer thunder.

Still, run first, swing later.

“Sorry, Teacher! I didn’t mean it!”

“…” Xuewei’s expression twitched, like a fan catching on silk; she had no words.

“Is it really that bad…?” Xuewei quietly lifted her chopsticks, a careful crane plucking a strand of noodles, and tasted.

“Emmm… nothing too awful,” she said, as if tasting fog.

“That means your taste buds are the problem, Auntie,” Ying Xuan’er muttered, a sparrow chirping a bold note by the window.

“Really…?”

“Mm. I think you’ve eaten too many ‘failed dishes’ and your taste’s gone numb, Auntie. If you really want to learn, find a master chef. I think… Tangxue cooks super well.”

“Like I need you to say it…” Xuewei flopped onto the table like a salted fish with its dreams dried out in the sun.

“Yueqin… why don’t you teach Auntie to cook?”

“I can’t, Your Highness,” the young maid she called Yueqin said, smiling like a crescent moon.

“Uh…”

Just as Xuewei was laying her dreams to rest, her comms crystal chimed, bright as a bell in a quiet hall.

She picked it up weakly and set it before her. “Hello…”

“Xuewei, something’s happened. You need to return to the palace, quickly.” On the other side, face stern as winter sky, was Bai Zhi, Queen of the Radiant Empire.

“…Royal Sister? What happened?” Xuewei shed her laziness like a cloak; her gaze went sharp, a blade catching light.

“Waaah—Xuewei, you were so cute just now,” came the playful lilt, like a cat pawing yarn.

“Royal Sister…”

“Don’t be mad, don’t be mad. I was easing the air, like a breeze in a tense room. I really do have something important.”

“Mom… what’s important?”

“It’s—ow, ow!” Bai Zhi’s head bumped the screen with a clunk; emotions skittered like loose beads. “That hurts…”

“Pffthahaha!”

“Ahem, ahem.” Bai Zhi smoothed her face, calm as a lacquered table. “Xuan’er, why are you at your Aunt’s place?”

“That’s not the point! Mom, didn’t you say you had something important?” She tried to sound detached, but her urgency flashed like a red banner, even more than Xuewei’s, and Xuewei had to bite back a retort.

“This doesn’t concern you, Xuan’er. It’s still too early for you,” Bai Zhi said, her voice turning steady, like a hand over a trembling cup. “Mom and your Aunt will handle it. You’re still studying at Heavenly Melody Academy, right? Be good… go to class first.”

“Oh…” Ying Xuan’er wasn’t a willful child. She knew her mother’s tone meant the matter was heavy as stone. Though a little crestfallen, she took the hint, tugged Yueqin’s sleeve, and left, like two swallows slipping out the eaves.

Yueqin was the little maid she always called by that name.

“Royal Sister, can you say what’s so important now?”

“Xuewei, you’ve been impeached in the imperial capital,” Bai Zhi said, her words falling like cold rain.

“Impeached?” Xuewei frowned, lines tightening like strings. “I haven’t even been in the capital. How could anyone impeach me?”

“Remember Duke Slunwedon? The one who sent you to deal with that Vampire. He filed it. To be precise… he impeached your family.”

Xuewei stayed silent, but her brows knotted like black twine, and the veins along her hand rose faintly, a river under skin.

An impeachment against her family… that kind of thing never stirred her much. Her father wasn’t a force, but with the Queen’s tilt, he wasn’t weak enough to be smashed through so easily. But Duke Slunwedon was different; he held a slice of the Radiant Empire’s military, words heavy as iron. A collateral royal line couldn’t match that weight.

What truly jabbed at her was that the spear point was aimed at her.

Possibility one: he sensed something under the silk. Possibility two: he’s linked to that Vampire. This might be a lure‑the‑tiger‑from‑the‑mountain play, bait dangling while the Vampire still prowls in the city. Either way, she had to move, fast as lightning over the ridge.

Looks like I need to return. I have to cut this weed at the root.

Xuewei thought, a shadow crossing the pond.

“I understand, Royal Sister. Today—no, in a bit—I’ll get ready to head back to the capital. But before that, I need to find a person.”

“All right…” Bai Zhi’s expression turned a shade odd, like ink bleeding in water. “Handle your part first. Don’t stir up a storm, okay? Come back quickly.”

“Mm. Goodbye, Royal Sister.”

“Bye—”

Xuewei sat alone at the table, dazed, like frost holding a leaf in place.

For a long time.

“Looks like… I can’t have lunch with you again today,” she murmured, voice soft as ash.

She finished the two bowls that belonged to herself and Tangxue, noodles slipping like pale ribbons, then returned to her room to pack, movements crisp as folding paper.

“That damned Vampire should still be in the City Lord’s manor,” she said, eyes cold as a winter pool. “If I leave, you don’t get to stay.”